Light-Winged Smoke
by Sixty Morphy
Summary: A troubled female Demon Hunter and her companions join forces against mounting obstacles. Thanks for reading.
1. Chapter 1

I, Odile, lived in a small town beside Kingsport. There was a famous dying swan in an ancient tale that I was named after. But I was no dying swan. There could be nobody more opposite to a swan; instead of a waddling, sideways gait, I strode in a straight line. My arms were small and sleek, rather than awkward wings. I had a short neck, a white face and straight black hair. My sister, Delphine, was short and dark-haired as well, but ran ragged, with waving hair, always enjoying herself, smiling and laughing. I loved Delphine. I always wondered why Delphine smiled and laughed, and didn't keep her clothes clean and neat. I was inverted and quiet, and preferred sitting on a rock or ledge, or stump, gazing out calmly as my sister ran about. My mother and father were farmhands and worked all day. Cara, our older sister again, worked on the farm as well.

The day I picked up my first bale of hay, conjoined with my mother and father and older sister, the demons came. It was an accident. Nobody knew whether the demons were stalking toward Kingsport, Caldeum or Westmarch: from where the town was placed, their eventual destination could have been any of them. But a maw opened up in the ground near the town, and hellspawn poured out. Nobody had any defence. The people in the farms died first. My parents were taken on the edges of the farm and I saw them fall down, one, two. Delphine, running under trees, saw me run toward her and without a word, drag her away.

"Why? Why are we going?" Delphine kept turning her head toward the edges of the farm from which she had been simply waiting for our parents and myself to return from our work.

"Go," I panted, "hurry. Into the house." I knew nothing about hiding. I had never even hidden from anyone in play. Delphine was good at hiding. I knew Delphine could curl into a tiny corner, fit into a box, crouch in a chest, stand stiffly behind the false wall of a wardrobe.

And that was where I would put my sister.

"Go up into mother's wardrobe. Hurry."

"Is this a game?"

"Yes. You have to stay there until you hear my voice. No matter what you hear, don't come out until you hear my voice. Go."

Delphine liked to protest, but I suppose it was the harsh note in my voice that made her hurry along further under my arm. She liked to argue in fun, but she was silent now. Hurry, hurry, up into the house. I opened the false wall in the wardrobe where my parents kept their few valuable possessions, and saw my sister rest her startled head on her grandmother's intricate quilt. There was quite a space behind there. I knew I could not stay. There was a risk: if my sister spoke to me when daemons were in the house, we would be discovered immediately. Neither of us had ever even seen a daemon. I didn't know what either of us would do if we saw one up close. Never mind a horde of them. But if Delphine knew it was a game, knew only to come out when she heard my voice, there was a chance. My mind flashed to Cara and our mother and father. Then it flashed back to the present. I acted immediately. I could only do what immediately came to me in the moment. I knew that. I knew I could only do what I could. Putting my finger to my lips, I shut the wardrobe door, tears of tension coming into my eyes as I did it.

Then I ran into the woods. First behind one tree, than another, the noises of thrashing and burning fading away. I almost became calm. Where should I hide? Did I even need to hide? _Should I have taken Delphine here? _My stride slowed to a calm gait. No; the only idea I had was to climb a tree, and Delphine was too clumsy to climb an inch. I staggered into the lower branches of a spreading tree, and pulled herself up one branch after another. At the top of the tree, I gazed out over my hometown.

One hovel, after another, lit up and burned.

No. They would burn the house. They would burn the house with Delphine in it. There was time to run back. I saw my friend's house go up in smoke. Lae. Was she inside? I leapt down from the tree seven branches up, fell on my ankle, and twisted and jarred it both at once. I had to find Lae and Delphine. And Lae's brother, Ospi. No, just Delphine, I thought, staggering on my ankle. Just Delphine. I couldn't go any further. I started to run, and then, as my ankle curdled under her bone, to limp. I limped into the town, hearing the noises come closer and closer. I burst into the wardrobe: Delphine was gone. Of course. Delphine didn't understand the concept of the game. To hide until she heard her sister's voice? What was the point of that? She would have wondered what it meant, and finally burst out to find me and question me. The quilt was gone: she must have been cold. I lurched backward and put her hands to her head.

There was nowhere I could go. I could only hope my sister had run into the forest. Surely Delphine would have run away from those noises.

I could look for Delphine in the forest. Somehow she could get her into a tree. Helping her up limb by limb on my hurt foot? I could barely climb now, myself.

Where did Delphine go when she was scared? Of course: her grandmother's grave. Whenever our father yelled at us, or something difficult happened, or our mother was angry, we both liked to go to their grandmother's grave and sit amongst the fragrent flowers and speak about what Laila – our grandmother – would say and think, what she would do. But would Delphine go there? Delphine wasn't stupid. If she saw or heard the demons, would she just run into the graveyard, where there was nowhere to go?

It didn't matter. I had to go there. I had to. That was the last place Delphine might be. If I found Delphine there, we could flee. And go where? Kingsport? Fine. I took the silver candlestick from behind the false wall, and my father's crossbow, and my mother's rose-gold bracelet, and bundled them into the sheet from the bed. Then I made tracks for the graveyard. My brains were not yet in despair. As long as my sister, - and perhaps Cara, were alright -

I loved her mother and father and the idea that they were gone was just beginning to come over me. I stopped to sob. Then the realisation that my sobbing might mean I missed Delphine, that because of my weakness and my vulnerability, my stopping just to let out one tiny noise, that Delphine might die, stopped me dead.

I would never stop to feel again.

The graveyard was on the edge of town. I had passed it running out of the village. There it was: I saw the outline against the crystalline sky, the white clouds streaking out from the cragging graves. It was drawing into evening. I ran into the picket gate, stopped as it hit me, and pushed it open. It was stuck on the ground.

There was something beside my grandmother's grave.

It was a twisted form, small, skin glowing bright red. It held a rounded club with awkward spikes jutting out of it at odd angles. It had small, slanted, black eyes. Horns. Tiny pointed ears. It stood over the body of my sister. And in my mind, that was it: every daemon that ever existed I saw and felt standing over her small, cold body. But this daemon looked up at me. My eyes met the eyes of the demon and I automatically attempted to find its pupils to gaze into. There were none: just black, oval holes.

My shaking arms moved. My trembling hands found the crossbow, and I was just breathing, breathing, breathing. A bolt. As the demon raised its club to elbow level, there was a crossbow bolt buried in its skull.

I breathed. A line of blood trickled calmly around the stems of plants toward me, finding a path easily. My legs gave out and I fell to my knees beside the grave of my grandmother and, now, the grave of my sister. I picked up the quilt, and moved it gently from the grasp of the small hand still searching for comfort, and simply fell down onto it.

I slept.

The next thing I knew, there were voices in the air around me. I could hear questioning inflections, then tones of calm understanding. All she could think of was, hazily, that there had been something to be questioned, and then the group of voices had decided on an answer.

I opened her eyes. Someone was tucking the quilt over me. But before I realised this, my hand whipped out and grabbed the person's arm, twisted. There was a grunt, and the pushing hands retreated. The wind whirled against my eyes. A flower hit me in the face. There was a strong smell of dirt. Then I remembered where I was and an angry, strained howl left my frame and was bore away on the wind. However, it was loud enough to make the shadows around me start back. Shadows! All I could think of was my father's crossbow. My hand stabbed first one way, then another. The voices sounded, alarmed, as I found the crossbow and raised it. Somehow my other hand found the bolts. The machine of pure instinct joined the one with the other and the bolt left the crossbow and sang into the air. A gabble of voices started to un-knit around her into individual sounds. The shadows came closer.

"Don't worry, she's - "

But another bolt had left its home and the voice stopped and became a harsh grunt, and then a groan.

"Gods!"

"Are you well?"

Hands came down on me then, hands stronger than mine, hands that seemed impossibly large, and wrestled the machine from me. My next instinct shot my arm out to my left where I had left my sister, an arm that curled around nothing. I let out a howl of anger.

"Are you well, Seth?" A woman's voice that time.

"No. She got me."

Another voice laughed, then fell away in embarrassed chuckles. Someone else laughed too. The woman's voice started to speak low to the man called Seth. I tried to sit up but hands were pinning me to the grave. The strange lustre left my vision as I blinked again and again.

"Sit down!"

"Lie down."

"No!" I heard myself say. "I'm never doing it again! I'm never doing what anyone else wants again!"

"What?"

"Other people could be wrong," I said, and spat out a small clump of dirt. My crossbow clicked as it was borne away into the air and I lunged for it. "Give me that!" I had chosen my moment; I had waited until the hands had slackened against me. I sprang free. I could now see people around me, all wearing cloaks and hoods of various colours, lunging toward me. I ignored their faces.

"Give me that!"

"Get her down!" It took five men to contain my movements; I moved as fast as a small eel, my body squirming into all manner of positions, and a strength in my limbs that I had never had to use before flooding into my body.

"Gods! She's holding us off!"

"All right, all right," the man called Seth was straightening up, a little way off, panting and holding his side, "reason with us, reason with us. We'll give you your crossbow back as long as you see us as allies. Speak to us."

A man was speaking to me like an adult. I felt my childhood ease off me like a shroud.

"I will," I said in a decided voice. The crossbow was hastily given back to me. "Where is my sister's body." My usual even, calm tone was piercing and cold.

"We were deciding what to do with her body," Seth said, "like many others."

"Let me be, then," I said. "Let me go."

"Where will you go?"

"None of your business," I had to keep remembering who was speaking. Yes, that was my voice. It had a note of decision in it – like someone who knew what they were going to do until the end of their life. "Where are my things?"

A man to Seth's left, looking nervous, put down my sheet hastily made into a bundle.

"Don't worry. They're yours," Seth said.

"Who are you?" I was grabbing my bundle. It slipped and my things fell into the dirt. I tried to wrap the sheet around them again, but it was cumbersome and impossible to manage and lift without the fear of something escaping. I wanted my legs to be moving. I wanted to walk hard to keep myself from crying. I wanted to move; I was restless.

"We're survivors. We were looking at you sleeping; nobody seems to know you."

"My father and mother were farmhands."

"Ah," Seth said, "that would explain it. Did anyone ever go into the fields? No?"

I felt impatient.

"I would be grateful," I said coldly, "if you would give me a knapsack or backpack to carry my things with. I would just need to sell this bracelet; I can give you gold."

"Hold it," said Seth, and he stepped forward properly. I could see the wound I had given him standing out against his stomach. "You're lucky we found you. Don't be demanding favours of us. Besides, reflexes like that? We have a proposition for you. We're sorry about your sister."

"Don't be sorry," I said, "how dare you pretend to feel. It is my business and my sorrow. You did not know what she was."

"You think no one feels but yourself?" The woman who had spoken earlier took a step forward. She had shoulder-length shining red hair. She took down her hood. Barely healed slashes covered her face, not even once, but criss-crossing. "I'm Audra. I lost my entire family; my husband, my daughter."

"That must be terrible," I said, and meant it. Gazing at her, I realised what the expression in my eyes must have been at that moment. "I'm hasty. I apologize."

"I understand your pain and your need to get away," Audra said, "but Seth is right. Join us. Stay with us. You can't be older than seventeen."

"I'm fourteen."

"Perfect. I had never picked up a crossbow before yesterday. At your age, with your practice, we might be about the same level. Come with us. We can train together."

"Train for what?" I snapped.

"Killing them," Seth and Audra said at the same time, almost a mumble, and as they said it their eyes flashed.

"Them? You mean – the daemons." I said, and I finally stepped down off my grandmother's grave. "Yes. Yes. Yes." My arms and legs felt jerky, like I had never moved before. They moved a little too far when I moved them.

"There are warriors from the town guard here who can teach us to use weapons," said Seth, "I'm the son of the mayor of this town – well – he was the mayor," he spoke bitterly. "I lead this group."

"Yes. Yes," I said, moving toward him. "Of course I will."

"You're very strong," Seth said, "I don't know if it's the grief, but five of us could barely hold you down."

"I don't know. Good," I said.

"I'm very lucky," he said clearly, his face inches from mine, "that your aim was off. If you had known how to use a crossbow properly, I might be dead."

"I apologise," I said stiffly. I realised how little I was used to speaking to people other than my mother, father and sisters, and a few friends of our family. I hardly knew how to interact. I was simply saying what I knew was clear and concisely what I was thinking. I wanted people to hear my voice when I spoke, but not from yelling. I wanted my words to pierce like a crossbow. I wanted to drive my points home. I knew my words were valuable.

A crossbow was even more valuable.

I knew I was important. I was the only one left after the deaths of my family. I was alone for the first time in my life, and my stomach twisted as I realised the benefits of this. I was glad there was nobody from my family with me to see what I would become, what I had already become, judging from the voice I barely knew.

I did not want my family to see how much I wanted – _needed_ – to kill daemons.

As I turned away in thought, I felt a knapsack being pressed into my hands. What I hoped, craved for, demanded, needed, and wanted, to be my last tear, came into the corner of my eye. I turned my face away, and dreamed about Delphine.


	2. Chapter 2

I, Odile, was twenty-two. My bags had been packed, and I had left my family – the only family I had left – behind. Audra was particularly sad to see me go. She knew I looked on her with great respect for her experiences in the town's attack, and so did I her. I was also one of the few people who could look on her face without looking like their stomach was turned, and that feeling showing in their expression. I had fought daemons now, many of them; we had searched them out in places where they had been known to hide, in caves, dark valleys, and many dark and dirty holes, and between all of us they had been overcome. I knew the face of evil, and nothing except that came close to turning _my_ stomach. We had trained together. I had far outdone her: it had been noticed by all of us, the Daemon Hunters, that I had exceptional talent with a crossbow, once trained to use it, because of my natural strength and agility, which, I found, was greatly more than even the experienced men in our group.

Nobody had seen anything like it.

Seth finally suggested on my twenty-second birthday that I set out, able to hold back ten small daemons on my own, and become an adventurer. I told him that I did not want gold or jewels, or incredible relics or any other treasure. I wanted to avenge my sister. I wanted to kill daemonspawn. But I said I would become an adventurer. More and more, I came to want to be alone. I sometimes sat wrapped in a silence and gravity which no person could interrupt, or person's speech distract from, for hours, staring off into the distance. People soon learned not to interrupt me when this happened. They worried, but supposed it was part of my grief. It was, but that wasn't all. I was gazing into a void, into the darkness itself. I usually sat on a stump near our camp and looked into the forest when night had fallen. And then, I simply gazed at the flat, dark, deep, silent darkness. I do not know if any thoughts crossed my mind when this happened. I just knew that I was watching something. Gazing at something. Something.

I wore my leather armour and boots to set off, and Seth gifted me something special: a hand crossbow.

"It's lighter and neater, and fires much faster than your father's crossbow," he said, "you can rapidly fire one arrow after the other. And if you find or buy another, you can learn to wield two of them."

I liked the idea. Trying them, I found they certainly suited me. I armed myself with a few hundred of their small bolts.

Seth, who had grown older and swarthier, and I, stood together quietly in the middle of the camp. Our white tents lay quietly around us, and leaves drifted down into my hair. Seth reached out and made to peel it from my hair, and my stomach gave a small tingle as he did it, but that startled me. I slammed his hand against a rock.

"I guess that's your way of saying, 'Don't do that'," he cringed and shook his hand, "the number of times you've hurt me on purpose. It's like I'm the enemy."

"You are not the enemy," I said to him, cool.

"Anyway, you look good. Odile, when you get back – no – I get ahead of myself - "

And he leaned forward and kissed me. I pulled back, awkwardly, more from unfamiliarity than anything. A cricket screamed between us. I watched it. I like the natural world. I love beautiful, flourishing towns and country.

"No?" Seth's expression was half disdain, half disappointment. "I thought you - "

"You thought - " I struggled to say anything. It was my first kiss. "Wrong. I'm going away."

"When you get back, Odile, please marry me. You have grown into a fine woman. It would mean a lot in these dark times, to be together. People should take happiness while happiness is possible. We can have children. We could protect them."

My mind whirled with ideas and new strangenesses. I had known how he had begun to look at me. I thought of peace. I thought of children. I thought of being happy.

"No," I said, "if I saw any of my children die before me, especially in the way our families died, it would break my mind forever. For another thing, I don't know if I could be happy married to you. I am different to you. I am solitary. Don't push me in this way. Besides, I am going away. I may never come back. But I'll be doing what I must: trying to save innocent people's lives from daemonspawn."

"Ah," he said, and ran a hand through his brownish-blonde hair, and cocked his eyebrows, "yes, Tristram, that's where you said you wanted to go. And you like to be alone," he sighed, "it's a burden – wanting to be alone. People who want to be alone come to rely on being solitary, and everyone knows deep down it is sharing your lives with others that makes a person happy."

"Not necessarily," I replied coldly, "I know what makes me happy right now. That is killing. That is saving lives. None of what you said is what I want. Perhaps I am one of the few people who is truly happy being alone." More leaves fell. Where we were, it was autumn. The leaves were golden and brown; various shades of dead. Knotted trees grew on all sides of the camp. Even the ground had a golden-brown sheen.

"So, I assume, you're not going to Tristram to loot the old Cathedral, like every other adventurer."

"I am insulted that you would even suggest that."

"Saving lives."

"If there are any left. I heard there was some kind of star, or meteorite, or rock, that fell into an old cathedral there, and dead bodies are rising from their graves because of some strange power emanating from the stone. I must try and kill as many as I can. And find as many people who may be trapped or in danger as I can."

"I admire your courage. Fighting the small daemons that spring up now and again, waiting if there is another assault on a town, is one thing - "

"They don't know where the dead are coming from. Just like we don't know where hellspawn come from, exactly. Hopefully there aren't many of them."

"- but fighting the dead? Dead corpses?"

"I know. But there is evil there. And so, I am going to go. Now."

"I know," Seth was smiling.

"Here," I reached over and gave him my father's crossbow, a great honour in my eyes, "take care of the town as it's rebuilt."

"Grigg will not suffer like that again," he said, softly, "I swear it. We will stop anything that threatens that town."

I gazed at him blankly, but inside hope had began to perch and flutter anxiously inside my chest. I had great hopes that my hometown would be just the way it was before. But – without my family in it. I had no more time to think about it. I had to act. I turned, went to my tent, and packed a bag. I took supplies and all the gold I had.

"Goodbye," I said to him. I had already said goodbye to the others before.

"Akarat bless you," said Seth. I nodded.

"And you," I added softly. "I hope – I mean, maybe – you will have a wife and children if I see you again."

"You don't want me to wait?"

"No. Don't wait for me." I waved over my shoulder. Finally I put on my hood and scarf. I was ready to go.


	3. Chapter 3

I, Odile, had come to New Tristram. It had been a day's journey, and I had travelled on a caravan. There had been questions from the other rather jolly people on the caravan, all laughing and joking and sharing wine with each other, about who I was and where I was from, but I merely said I was an adventuer heading to New Tristram. They were silent for a moment, and a man said,

"Dangerous place, that. Didn't you hear about the dead rising from their graves?"

I said that I had. It was raining and the horses were slowing their pace. It suddenly seemed dark inside the caravan. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked; all lit the frightened face staring at me inside the covered wagon. The man looked down, frowned, and then finally said,

"All I'm saying is I'm glad I'm not going to bloody New Tristram." A woman suggested wine to alleviate the dark atmosphere. She offered me a goblet. I accepted it. I don't like to have my wits dulled by drink, but at the same time, it is my weakness. It stops the demons howling in my head; it stops their taunts and their jeers, eases the images that plague my mind. I sipped slowly.

"You're a pretty girl," said an old man opposite me at the back. I ignored him, and pulled my hood slightly forward on my head.

Four hours later the rain had stopped, and so had the caravan. It drew up at the start of a dark road.

"Half an hour's walk to New Tristram," said the Caravan Leader cheerfully, "everything with you? Can I tempt you with anything from my supplies?"

"No, thank you," I said, smiling at his happy manner. I started down the road alone.

Half an hour later I realised I was at my destination. A cracked, bloodied sign read "New Tristram". I looked at the blood. It was fresh. There was a cart overturned beside the road, and grey-green pots strewn about fallen from it. I looked into the pots for anything anyone might need down in the town. There was rotten meat in the pots, filled with maggots. I backed away calmly. Then I saw the body. It looked like a tradesman: not ravaged by daemons, but just nibbled at the neck. What had killed this poor man?

The rest of the landscape was grassy; trees lined the road, and lights burned inside the town distantly.

The road was brown and simply dirty. Large-leaf plants lined the road. I fought two undead on the road before I came to the town gate, which was watched by two guards in towers. A man stood before me. He was dressed in a rough red tunic, a belt, and had a rusty sword at his side. An ill-fitting helmet on his head.

"Hello," I said simply, "I come to seek the evil that has risen in the wake of the star that has fallen on this land."

"An adventurer, eh?" said this New Tristram guard, "I'm Captain Rumford," he had a pleasant, rough face. I liked his manner; he reminded me of a farmer. I had grown up a farmer's daughter. "Leah – she survived the blast the star made in the old cathedral. You should speak to her. She'll be in the Slaughtered Calf Inn."

I shook his hand.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Odile," I said. I found I would not be unhappy to be on first name terms with this man. He had a title, however. He was Captain Rumford, and I would call him that out of respect – for now. The doors had to be closed then, since more of the shambling dead were coming, but working together, Captain Rumford and I dispatched them, sword and hand crossbow, and knife, working together.

I had been, once I left Seth and Audra, the best fighter they had by far. I could flip and roll and avoid attacks at startling speed. I could throw knife after knife with accuracy, precision and deadliness. My aim with my hand crossbow was perfect and I could shoot almost one after another with striking speed. I even seemed to have endless sources of energy and strength. I could go without sleep. I could run faster than any of them, much faster, and for miles and miles longer; in fact, I never tired. Seth and Audra said that if I had been a Barbarian, when I died they would have added me to their god-ancestors. I told them that it had to be my anger and hatred againts daemons, my memory of Delphine, my sister, my friend, and my other family, that was lifting me above what was normally expected of a person in strength and skill. I did, indeed, never tire. That was what had eventually given me the confidence to take on such a mission on my own.

Seth had told me he had never admired a person so much before. He was often in my thoughts. He was pleasant, looked deep into my eyes, and took me very seriously. He had given a slight sliver of further confidence to me.

"Thanks," said Captain Rumford, sweating deeply, but I was never and would never be offended by someone having exerted themselves and being sweaty. Ever. "I shall see you later, I hope."

He was a simple soul. I did like simple souls. I like innocent people. As long as they are not stupid.

I walked into the town. A morose man standing beside a wagon of burning bodies looked up at me.

"Curse these dead bodies. We burn them hour after hour," he said to me, not seeming to care whom he was speaking to, "at least, however, they'll never rise again."

"Yes. Thank Akarat for that," I replied darkly. I was a serious person, as is now known, quite dark, and I only ever say what I am thinking. I do not 'chat'. I gazed at the man pulling the bodies off the wagon and pushing them onto the fire.

"You are brave," I told him, "you could catch disease."

"What ever it is, what ever I - " he seemed even too tired to form a sentence and I realised he was so tired, he did not even care what he was doing. It was not bravary, it was apathy.

I walked a few steps further, looking around at the dark brown, boarded up buildings, and a man standing listlessly next to one of these buildings looked up at me.

"Hello," he said. He had a blue bandana and an ironic smile; I did not really like the look of him.

I was unflinching, and said,

"What is it."

"I came here to study the fall of Old Tristram. But this is closer to the town's history than I want to be."

"I do not care," I said, "if you came here and the attacks started, I am sorry for you, but from the look on your face, you are interested in talking to a woman. I am not available."

"Hmph," he said, "sorry to bother you, woman. I am a scholar, and I thought you might benefit from my knowledge and we may talk."

"I do not know about this town's history," I said, "but I do not need to know about its history to know that it needs help and I can give it that help."

I drifted away, ignoring him. The buildings were stone and wood, far from the thatched houses I had once knew. This town was a pisspot, and Grigg, my hometown, had been poorer, but I still considered my hometown a thousand times more beautiful. The open fields of wheat, sweeping wind touching every stalk, the simple houses spaced out so everyone had a yard and their own area, the flourishing trees. It was not because this place had dead bodies in it; it was the town itself.

I walked past a man with the robes of a healer. I smiled at him.

"Thank you for remaining here to help the living," I said, and gave him one of the five gold coins I had on me.

"I could hardly help the dead, could I?" he said, smiling benevolently. "Thank you very much, maid."

I realised with a little bewilderment that I was a maid. I considered myself grown up; worldly, my world darkened forever, my only purpose being killing demons. Revenge. Vengeance. Forever. That was as grown up as you could get – yet, at nineteen, I had never known a man. It was strange to be thinking that and looking at a healer and a priest, a celibate man. I managed to keep these thoughts to myself, nod, give a solemn smile to him and move on.

I stepped into the main square. A man was howling about his lost friend. My insides shrunk desperately for him. He had lost someone. He knew how it was. Next to him was the blacksmith. I glanced up at him from under my hood and as I was struggling for my words and my purse, he said,

"Nothing ever seems to change in New Tristram. There's always the threat of the living dead or some uprising of monsters to put everyone in terrible danger." He sounded dry and worldly. I was also rather dry and worldly, and our eyes connected and shared a rolling.

"I imagine not," I agreed, "hell is everywhere and all we can do is what we can do. Everyone simply must do the limit of what they can. If they cannot fight, they should do what they can for those tho can fight."

"Ah," he said, "a fighter. I see you are a fighter. Ne'mind whether or not you're a girl and you're slight. I can tell you have the sort of power that would put demons to the steel. What are you looking for there in that little bag? I'm afraid I don't make something for nothing."

"I would like a hand crossbow. I am able to fire two at once."

"That will be twenty-five gold for a basic, apprentice's hand crossbow."

"I have four pieces."

"I like you," said the blacksmith, "but I'm afraid according to what you say, we must all support the fighters, and I can't support the fighters if I give weapons away for free and don't use my money to make even better weapons."

"I entirely understand," I said, "may I know your name, should we continue to do business?" I could relate to this man, but I sensed he shrunk from any interest in women; I could sense some sort of loss in his air. Perhaps he had lost a sister or a mother or a wife. Perhaps he liked other men. I did not know. I could not tell you how I would have seen him had he displayed an interest.

"Haedrig Eamon," he said clearly; I imagined people had asked him to repeat it before.

"Odile. I hunt demons. You were right about me."

"Well, I hope you hunt all forms of evil and not just demons. The risen dead, for instance. We do have rather a wee problem with them," he said sardonically.

"I noticed. I shall certainly see to them. Goodbye – for now, sir," he was a skilled artisan, and it was polite to call him sir.

"Don't call me sir," he said, embarrassed, "call me Haedrig."

I saw the Slaughtered Calf nearby. But I saw a by-road that I wanted to move down. Some nut had dragged his cart right across it. I gestured to it. Our exchange was rather rapid.

"Move your cart. This road is blocked."

"How dare you! I am the Mayor of this town!"

"I don't care. Move your cart."

"You should be helping me escape! Anyone with a grain of sense would escape with me! This town is doomed!"

"Coward. You should be staying to help in any way you can. You are meant to be the leader here. I will remember what sort of person you are – I will remember you – and that makes me angry. I don't want to remember a coward."

I walked straight into the lit doorway of the Slaughtered Calf Inn. There was a large book embroidered on the cover with 'History of New Tristram.' I wasn't interested in how the town had come to be. I walked on. I could not – I did not know who 'Leah' was. She could have been any one of the women standing about, with their tight expressions, looking worried and creased, gossiping. I looked down on the injured men lying on their makeshift stretchers in the corner, wishing I was a healer as well as a fighter. I really, truly wished I was a healer; being a healer and a fighter would give me, sometimes, a feeling close to happiness.

I went to the bar, gave away another gold piece.

"A beer?" he said, offering one.

"No," I said, "I don't drink." I had decided that, with a mission like this, it was not what I would do. "Please tell me who Leah is; where she is, more exactly."

"She is over there. The pinkish-red tunic."

It looked more crimson than pinkish-red, but I wasn't about to argue with such a petty detail. I made my way over to the young woman, three gold in my purse. She was standing with her arms folded. She was young and rather beautiful, and appeared vulnerable, yet extremely determined. Also, rather bright. I liked her hair; it was in a sensible cut. My hair covered my face partly and I liked it; it resembled my hood in shape.

My hood I had taken down once I stepped into a public house.

"Hello," I said, "Leah, is it? I am here to help your town. I am a trained fighter."

"I'm glad," she said, "a messenger told me that you had arrived; Odile, - so, I did survive the blast in the cathedral, but it blasted my uncle, Deckard Cain, into the depths of it."

"Do not despair. I shall find him if I can, and at the same time destroy as many of these risen dead as possible."

"Thank you. - watch out!"

I turned. I raised my weapons. The six risen dead, who had overcome the souls of the poor sick men, were soon dispatched; the girl Leah, my age, was also quite a good shot with her bow. However, she was not the endless reloader that I was. She did not have my skill. But it was good that she had a way to defend herself. There was something deeply vulnerable about her; - but at the same time, she was not weak.

"Thank you again," she said, with an amused smile that was unexpected considering the situation, "speak to Captain Rumford. He can tell you what to do."

I walked back swiftly through the town, and I must admit, it empowered me to be alone. I did not want to see or meet other adventurers. To be alone was to be without distraction and to keep control.

"What can I do to fight these risen dead?" I asked him.

"Are you sure?"

"Very. If I die, I die."

"I admire your courage," he said, with his rough, earnest, and half-cheerful face, "only I survived the last attack. Try to kill this – risen handmaiden of the queen – her head headmaiden, I mean, her head handmaiden. She has risen as a powerful demonic zombie in Old Tristram."

"Thank you for your instruction," I said, laughing at his miswording, "I like you, Rumford." I could not help myself.

"Really? You? You are already an important person around here. I only serve."

"You are a brave man, and – you remind me of the farmers I grew up around."

"I was a farmer before I was in the militia. I cannot believe I have survived."

"Farmers are fit and strong. They have instincts about other living creatures. They understand land and what grows in it. They will have advantages in many situations with these attributes."

He nodded, his helmet-band dripping with sweat.

"You know more than me," he said simply.

"I do not know," I said.

We stood staring at each other under the lights.

"I shall see you again," we said at once. I did not smile at him, but I was pleased to know him.

I went off into the wilderness.


	4. Chapter 4

I passed over a bridge and stared at the fluttering crows that were about, wondering at their blackness. After a short trek through the grey, twisted land, filled with walking dead, I found old Tristram. This was apparently the town that had been the site of some curses and trouble years before. I saw before me a fallen militiawoman of Tristram. She was wearing some rather strong-looking and well-made armour; I felt she would not miss it, so after stripping her, I covered her with some nearby rags hanging from a wagon, told her to rest in peace and took this armour for myself. I took gold from bodies; I also found a hundred gold hidden in an old stump. I now had about a hundred and fifty gold. I would put these peoples' money into better things to fight with; what better cause could it go to? I dispatched easily the glowing, two-toed, slanted-walking, ragged handmaiden that I instantly recognised. She spat against my shoulder; I hardly felt the poison, but I would go and be healed in the town anyway.

I found a sort of seal before me; I had seen another in the center of town, and approached it cautiously. It lit up blue. Instinctively I stepped inside. A map appeared before me; it seemed like some sort of magic. I saw New Tristram lit up on the map. I pressed it with my hand. I found myself back in the town.

I saw Captain Rumford see me step out of the portal, not at all surprised, and he was smiling. I smiled back. I do not smile often.

"Hello," he said to me, "I imagine you've done what you said."

"I did," I said. He grinned broadly.

"You must be an excellent fighter – much better than me. Don't worry, however, I'm not intimidated. I'm enthused. Now, Leah might listen to you; she wants to find her uncle. I'm sure he's dead. Will you talk some sense into her?"

It was the first time I had found his speech irritating. More than irritating: insulting. Was not this man, this uncle's life, worth something to Leah, enough to never give up searching? A life was a life. It was not likely, but it was possible, and the possibility was everything.

"Don't be a coward, Captain Rumford," I said calmly.

"I'm sorry," he said, and blushed, seeming to half-change his mind, "help her if you like."

"Let us search for your uncle," I said to Leah.

"The guards left the key to the cathedral at Adria's hut," said Leah, "we'll have to head there. I'll go with you, of course."

I do not like company, but Leah did not disturb me. We hurried down the long, dark, winding road, overhung by ugly trees. Neither of us particularly took control. We did not also have time for much conversation. She was quite fit, but she panted next to me.

"Odile," she said, "where are you from?"

"I'm from Grigg."

"I'm sorry - I've never heard of it."

"Not many have. It's a small farming town near Kingsport. Who is Adria? Her hut – we are going to her hut?" my words came out jolted as I ran.

"My mother. She's long dead."

"I'm sorry." 

"Not to worry. I was raised by Uncle Deckard, who we're searching for," there was an innate cheerfulness in her voice that still did not annoy me. "As for my father, I'm told he was a great warrior."

"At least you have a family."

She looked at me curiously but did not ask me any further questions. When we came to the hut I stepped inside cautiously. She stepped inside quicker and almost slipped down a hole, but even as she was slipping she said excitedly,

"Look! There's a ladder! It's a hidden cellar! Let's go down." She immediately put her bow around herself and climbed down, quite the explorer.

I followed her. We found a cavern, a large cauldron the feature of it. The walls were pure rock, and there was a strange, scented, foreign air, as well as musk. Then I saw the creatures lurking in the corner.

"Captain Daltyn!" shouted Leah; obviously these were the missing militia. They were walking beasts. Leah and I dispatched them; her with a look of horror.

They fell. Leah and I looked around the cavern; it was rippling with parchments, askew tables, and the big cauldron. Leah said,

"People said she was a witch – I never believed it. Here is her journal," Leah looked through it and a trembling frown came over her face, "this is disturbing. I want to learn more, but it can wait. We need to save Uncle Deckard."

"I agree. Stay here. I'll learn what I can."

I found the Cathedral soon up the road. The star had smashed a blue hole in it, and I had to jump down not knowing if I would ever return. I did not even hesitate. My blood was beating through me like a pumping river. I had the old man in my head: my objective and my potential friend. He was already a friend in my mind, because he was an innocent victim. Once I saved someone, they would always be someone to protect for me.

I went through the maze of the cathedral destroying demons; strange winged ones, large bulbous ones that ran toward me bubbling and yelling, and the dead. All fell under my skill. I found on a dead man a particularly beautifully crafted bow that I found very powerful. I whispered thanks for it in his ear. Down in the winding catacombs I found an old man being chased by an enourmous skeleton. I calmly readied myself and the skeleton fell under several well-placed arrows, fired in rapid succession, and several thrown knives which I retrieved afterward.

The man, Deckard Cain, thanked me heartily and even asked me why I had risked myself for him. I liked him immediately for his modesty. I wasted no time in telling him his niece was well.

He was delighted. As luck would have it, there was also a secret passageway directly out and we found another waypoint back to New Tristram.

I had the pleasure of re-uniting Leah with her uncle.

"What can you tell me," I asked, "about the fallen star? You look very wise; you have an air of it about you."

"That's true," said Leah, "my uncle was a Horadrim, and has vast knowledge of demons and many other things."

"I can't, however," he said, "tell you much about the Fallen Star, though the fact it exists surely points to the fact that the end days have arrived..."

"Please, Uncle, no stories," said Leah, "I'm just glad you're back, that's all."

"I need to get to the Fallen Star," I said, "I'm sure to discover why the dead are rising if I see what is at its center. Otherwise, this will go on indefinitely; I'm sure of it."

"But what of facing the Skeleton King?" said Deckard Cain, "he is commanding the risen dead that have come; he also guards the entrance to the chamber wherein the star fell."

"Do not worry," I said, "it is another monster for me to fight. I am not intimidated by its power."

"From what I saw of you," said Cain, "you could very well be the answer to all our woes. If you will fight for us, we would be very grateful." There was a look in his eyes like he knew a lot more than he was saying – which was surprising, because he apparently talked a lot. Even Leah, who seemed like a patient listener, started making little signs of displeasure when he began a speech.

"I would be more than happy to," I said.

"Would you like to hear more about the tale of Leoric?" said Leah, "he was once the King of Khonduras, and the Lord of Tristram, and when Diablo came, he was corrupted by his power and became what we know of him today – a king over his skeleton armies."

"I wish to know what will help me fight him," I said, "is he a reanimated skeleton?"

"That is what we believe," said Deckard Cain.

I nodded. I would not mention that without flesh, there were less places for my arrows to go, and they would do less damage, especially without being enchanted somehow. I would have to find the Blacksmith; with the gold I had found, I could possibly pay him to forge an enchanted bow for me. There were certain people in the world who had some small skill in magic, and I was one of them. I could enchant my arrows to find their targets, which was not useless, however, in the light of my accuracy, it was mostly unnecessary.

"I need to find the Blacksmith," I told my new friends, - well – associates.

"You'll find he's a little busy," said Leah, looking discomforted, "but you'll definitely need to find him, because he knows where to find Leoric's old crown, which you will need to put on Leoric's head before he will revive and fight you. I would go down that road," she pointed, "and you'll see him. If you ever need my help, Odile, I will be either out defending the gates, with the wounded soldiers, or with Uncle Deckard."

"I admire your persistence in aiding the town," I said, and shook hands with her.

"Uncle Deckard," said Leah, "you should get some rest."

"No, no, I must stay awake," he said, bouncing on his toes.

"Sleep if you must. I will possibly be away a long time. But I will succeed," I said.

I walked over and past the Mayor, who was standing complaining to anyone who would listen about his broken cart. I just decided to ignore him, and gave him a deathly cold glare that stopped his mouth opening again. As I traversed the thin road that Leah had told me to follow, I saw a woman about five years my senior – I am nineteen - bartering with a trinket-seller who was operating from a hollow to my left.

I stepped forward to see what he was selling. There were some fairly fine pieces of jewellery there, and the man was talking excitedly to the young woman, saying they were enchanted with the power to enhance one's energy, but he could not say exactly how. I looked in my bag and began to count my money.

"Fifty gold pieces," the young woman said, and stared hard at the man's face. The man seemed to cower and meekly handed over the necklace that was wanted. The girl turned and looked at me, and we smiled at each other. That in itself was strange, because I felt I was smiling against my will. She was dressed in colourful armour, and I felt she was from somewhere I had never been before from the way she was dressed.

"And who are you?" she asked me. Her tone clearly told me that nothing had ever stopped her from doing anything she wanted to do. She had never experienced hardship. Her face was exotic and imperial. She had a lot of red hair in an elaborate hairstyle that looked like it took time and effort.

"My name is Odile. Why."

"You're a Demon Hunter, aren't you. I imagine you came from one of the towns around Kingsport. Those rogues all hail from that area. You're a treasure seeker? I have heard of you in this town already."

I had nothing to say, since she appeared to know everything about me that anyone needed to know. At least, in her eyes.

"You see? I'm right, aren't I. I usually am. Where I am wrong once, I am in the right a hundred times," she said.

"You are wrong about one thing. I am not a treasure seeker. I do not know who you are, but you appear almost too confident," I found my tongue.

"You look confident also."

"Not to recklessness. I am always prepared."

"Why not join forces, then?" said the foreign woman. "I have heard of your deeds."

"Who are you?"

"I? I am Zila. I hail from Caldeum. I am a mage, prophecised to save this town."

I snorted.

"I am here to help," I said, "whether I am fated to or not. I take it that the reason you want to fulfil this prophecy is to return to Caldeum a famous saviour of this land."

Her cheeks went pink, and she did not deny it. Her eyes looked rather confused for a moment, then she put her chin higher up into the air.

"Well done," said a man grinning from the side of the road just in front of us, showing his missing teeth, "icy holier-than-thou bitch, better than the rest of us, that Zila. You're really excellent, Odile. It's a shame the demons will kill you just like they killed all the rest."

"Quiet, Abraham," said Zila. I noticed her irises were purple, with little spots of colour dancing in them like fish.

"We shall see about that," I said to Abraham. Zila looked at me with a sort of haughty anger. Then she put out her hand.

"I recognise courage and skill when I see it," she said, "join with me. Whatever we find to benefit us from this venture, we can share equally."

I could not deny that her words had power and I sensed that she had a magical aura that was designed to influence those around her. Such an aura I could fight against with my own inner strength. I did not know what kind of a mage she was. I wanted to refuse, but for some reason I found it a struggle. I do not think I will ever know why I could not refuse her offer. I silently took her hand. Perhaps I wanted to see how she would do facing a mob of demons.

"You're joining with her?" said Abraham.

"For now," I said. I had never met a mage before, and I admit that the simple farmhand's daughter in me was intellectually frustrated at encountering something that I had no idea how to learn to do. I could not command her in battle, either. I knew a few simple incantations, many people did, but if she was a real mage, I would see some impressive spells, I knew that from the old stories.

If she was what she said she was.

We stared at each other for a moment, each almost challenging the other to lead the way.

"I shall lead," said Zila.

"I take it you know what is to be done, then."

" - yes, I am going to the crater, the center of the crater," she said with determination, "I was just getting supplies from these overpriced and understocked merchants. I do not see the point in bringing as much gold as I brought if nobody has anything to sell. In Caldeum - "

"Please stop talking," I said harshly, "we seek the crown of Leoric. The Blacksmith, whom I met earlier, can tell us where it is."

"Blacksmith?" said Zila, "I did not see a Blacksmith anywhere. I do not need one. This armour was crafted for me by the finest workmen in Caldeum, and I crafted my wand and orb myself, imbuing them with my own magical strength."

"Haedrig," I said, ignoring her speech entirely, and raising my hand to him; he was standing morosely staring at a trapdoor some distance away.

"I've heard about what you want," said Haedrig, and the look on his face was so truly terrible that my heart and gut turned, "I cannae help you right now. Oh, it's you," he looked very unenthusiastic to see Zila, "I heard about your magic. If you're going to help Odile, that's good, I suppose. But Odile, I need your help. My wife's locked in the cellar with all the ones who've been bitten – I have to kill them all – but how can I kill my own wife?"

"Sometimes death is the only mercy we have left," I said, pulling my hood forward over my head. I did not consider Zila a new friend. She and I were reluctant allies; at least, I was reluctant.

"Thank you," said Haedrig, shaking my hand, and _his _hand was shaking. He turned and ran toward the trapdoor. I was as quick as possible in following him, wanting to get it over with.


	5. Chapter 5

Haedrig opened the trapdoor and relatively calmly, stepped inside. He had a look of misery and pain on his face and his limbs were trembling. I looked at Zila, and said,

"Coming?" and slipped inside with him. Zila looked rather confused. I realised she had not been listening. I was very angry with her, and tried to simply shut her out, saying, "if this is not 'important' enough for you to do, you need not bother."

Zila seemed to sigh as I shut her out. Stepping forward into the damp and gloom of the cellar, a moment later I looked behind me. The trapdoor had disappeared in a flurry of fire, apparently from one of Zila's spells. She looked in and said,

"I do not like the idea of coming in here. The ceiling is low; it smells, there are rats; what exactly are we doing in here?"

"Do not come, then," I said, realising that getting angry at her was not going to help anything.

She came inside despite what she said, then, a moment later, gave up, threw up her arms and left. I was glad she had gone. She was no help at all. I put my hand on Haedrig's shoulder. He put his hand on my hand.

"What's your wife's name?" I asked.

"Mira."

"I shall be as quick and deft as I can, Haedrig."

"Thank you. I'll help as well – let's just get it over with."

We faced the poor men who had been bitten; then, in the center of the room, a woman stood hunched over and shivering, as if she had been standing in the cold without food for a long time. She looked up and her eyes were glowing. She was gone.

"Mira – I'm sorry," Haedrig said, and despite that, I aimed my hand crossbow directly at her head.

Outside Zila stood impatiently waiting, having wrapped herself in a purple and pink hood and an outer layer of clothing to cover her shivering arms. She ignored us, apparently waiting for me to be finished with my mission. I was disappointed with her. I felt she was helping others for her own benefit. Haedrig thanked me under his breath. There were tears in his beard.

"I can help you with what you want to do," he finally said, after taking many aching breaths, "the crown of Leoric is buried with his chancellor, my grandfather. You'll find the crown in a cematary near the Weeping Hollow. If you see that fool apprentice of mine – tell him to get back to town."

"I see," I said, and touched his arm one more time. He laughed and brushed me away. I turned away directly and beckoned to Zila. Zila followed at her own pace.

"That fool man," she said, "what is his trouble?"

"He lost his wife. Do not mock him to my face or you will lose yours."

She simply laughed quietly.

"Have you ever lost anyone?" I said savagely as we walked out the gates into the wilderness. She was a slow walker. I gestured at her to hurry up. I had never hoped so much that the beasts would take someone. I would protect her, but it was lunacy to expect me not to hate someone so seemingly awful. So self-involved.

"No," she said simply, "Caldeum is a safe city. We live there for its protection."

"There may be a time when even Caldeum is threatened, somehow. You must prepare for the worst."

"You know nothing of Caldeum, - what did you do before you were a Demon Hunter?"

"No, true, I don't know the city. I was a farmhand's daughter."

"Ha!"

I ignored this jibe and we walked on in silence.

Weeping Hollow was dark, like everywhere else; it was not yet night, which cast a strange glow over the land, and the shapes of trees were long over the ground. The grass was like the rest of the grass of this area – green-grey under our feet. The first creatures we saw were three shambling walking dead. I looked at Zila for assistance.

She shot bolts of purple energy from her wand and two of the creatures crumbled. I threw out a trap for the other one to stumble into.

"Well, then," said Zila, "I suppose you have all sorts of mechanics up your sleeve. Nothing compared to the arcane, of course. Isn't this place disgusting? The colours are almost exactly opposite to Caldeum's."

"I do not care about the colours, except that they make me almost invisible."

"If you want to be invisible," she said, as we made a steady pace through the scrub, "why wear that bright red hood?"

"To be seen by other people, in case there is an accident. I don't care if the demons see my head – I don't want them to see what my body is about to do," I said.

"Understood," she said in a way that made it seem like she didn't really know or care, "ah! Look at those little things! Those striped little beasts over there."

"They are about to attack us."

And they were. The striped, bent, little savages had seen us, and were running toward us, dodging through the underbrush, their fur flying back. Their teeth were bared. I fired. I missed. They were extremely agile. I muttered an incantation and my bolt swerved in the air to find its target. Meanwhile, another of them leapt directly at Zila. She held her wand up in the air and ice appeared around her, crackling; the little animal bounced off the floating ice, startled, and Zila hurled a huge ball of arcane energy at it and it flew into a tree and its eyes rolled back. We had survived our first scavenger pack.

"These are extremely difficult," I said, "compared to those walking dead. They are agile and quick. But we seem to have managed them well enough. Let's press on."

Zila shivered. There was a long gash down her arm. She took out a red potion, the standard for healing in Sanctuary, and drank it. The gash knitted itself up and disappeared. If she had been my friend, I would have laid an encouraging hand on her, or told her she had done well. I was a loner, and not used to affection or loving exchanges, but I would always try and help another human being in whatever way I could. However, I mused, with a smile, I was not sure Zila was a human being.

"Look over there," I said, just as I was debating whether or not to say something supportive. There was a hut in the distance, "this, unfortunately, must be Haedrig's apprentice."

"Whatever he was doing out here," said Zila, looking on him as though angry he had been stupid enough to die, "I cannot fathom."

"It is not his fault. Perhaps he was foolish, but nobody deserves to be murdered."

"I do not pity him," she declared.

I believe I grew hot with anger. I was not sure I could work with someone like this.

"We must inform Haedrig," I said, "he may be waiting for the news. He might be worried."

"Do not worry about it," said Zila impatiently, tossing her purple scarf over her shoulder, "it can wait. We need this crown, don't we? You really need to stop worrying over every little detail that comes into play."

I stood, torn. I owed it to Haedrig to let him know that the other person who had meant something to him was gone, lost, just like his wife. I did not like the idea he clung to false hope. However, I was impatient to get on with my mission. If only there was a waypoint.

"Let's explore a little further," I said, "there might be a waypoint up ahead. Do you know anything about that? Also, do you know anything else about what we are doing?"

"Of course, I know geography, lore, history, anything," she said harshly, as we were speaking in rather harsh tones to each other, "I believe there is a waypoint in the cematary where we are going to. I know the magical reasons why this crown will wake Leoric from his sleep. I know the legend of the king, - how he slowly went mad. I learned most of it when I was younger than you are. But you don't care for any of this, do you? You seem only to care about what works for you."

"I admit I do not, really, care," I said, smiling, taking the gold from the apprentice's pouch and separating it from my gold, to give to Haedrig later, "but as campside tales, I suppose I would like to listen. Tell me when we get a spare moment."

I had noticed something glittering inside a pile of rocks. Spilling them, I found someone had hidden gold there; quite an amount. I offered Zila her fair share, but she turned it down with a gesture.

"No," she said, "I do not need any more gold. I am above such transactions."

"What you mean is that you have more gold than you know what to do with," I translated, "or I'll tell you what, you'd be pouncing. You don't understand what it's like to earn ten gold a day slaving away in a field."

"Don't lecture me about how amazing it is to be poor, and how it makes you so incredibly _moral_," she said, almost laughing, "poor people will do anything for money, that I know. At least the rich have manners."

"There are good and bad people amongst the rich and the poor," I said, "there's no use pretending money improves anything but the quality of the possessions you own."

"I believe I agree," she said, which surprised me. I stared at her blankly, and she continued, "I am not stupid enough to disagree, anyway, because I've seen honest and dishonest people that are rich and poor."

"I'm glad you don't look down on the poor."

"What does it matter to you," said Zila, "what I think?"

"I suppose it doesn't, if you're going to start wondering about it," I said, rather angrily, because she frustrated me, "look out!"

There was something running toward us; a gigantic creature, bulbous, with a neat, hungry little mouth and angry eyes. It looked like a pile of flesh. It was enourmous. There were five large and well-fed scavengers running at its side; apparently the beasts had learned to prey on what this gigantic demon killed.

"Run!" I shouted to Zila, who had completely lost her nerve and was hesitating on the spot.

I threw down caltrops behind me as I ran; the monsters slowed, and we caught our breath. I threw two knives at the bulbous monster which hardly seemed to slow it down; it had so much flesh on it.

"Try shooting it in the head," Zila snapped.

"Try doing something yourself!" I replied, taking her hand and throwing her into a hollow tree; I knew I was the faster runner, and as soon as she disappeared from sight, they began to follow me. When they caught up, I sprang and rolled out of their path and threw down a spike trap, then entangled them with a thrown chain. Zila, meanwhile, had regained her nerve; lightning coldly struck down from the sky, hitting one of the scavengers and completely disabling it.

Rolling further afield, I aimed for the grotesque creature's head; it was a perfect shot; the thing staggered a step and its eyes crossed. It shuddered, then to my shock, exploded, guts flew everywhere, and the explosion killed all the remaining animals around it.

Zila had ducked when I shot it in the head. When I saw she had ducked, I was extremely angry. I ran over to her as she was getting down from the tree and took her shoulders, and shook her.

"Why didn't you tell me they exploded like that?" I looked her squarely in the eyes.

"I didn't have time," she said, "please, really, I didn't. I told you to shoot it in the head. That's all you needed to know."

"I could have been caught in the blast."

"You use a bow as a weapon! Please! Why would you be anywhere near it?"

I let her be. To relieve my anger I went and collected my knives from the carcasses. They were basic knives. I hoped to have some better ones from the blacksmith in time. Zila looked pleased; she lifted her skirts and stepped over the guts and gore.

"That was some quick work I did there," she said, looking at the scavenger that was paralysed by lightning.

"You did very little, but thank you anyway," I said, rather letting my temper get the best of me, because I felt she could have done a lot more. She also tended to lose her nerve when monsters got close to her.

"That's a backhanded insult," she said, glared at me, and walked off in the direction of the haze that covered our path to the north. "I will not have you speak to me like that – not ever."

I was about to say that I would speak to her in whatever way I chose, because I felt I had earned that right, but coolness overcame me and I kept my temper. I knew that I often felt angry, but aloofness and steeliness could just as easily keep me from speaking. I also tended to calculate what I was about to do. It was best to ignore her, I felt, and press on. It was simply maddening, however, that there was just the two of us travelling together. We were not a good pair, either arguing or striding along silently. We would have to overcome our differences if we were to stop from killing each other or being completely ineffective in battle. We would have to understand that we were at least comrades fighting a common enemy.

I still did not know what her motives were. She seemed to be confused about them herself. I knew she wanted to be a heroine, but there seemed to be different forces at work as well as that. I just didn't know what else was motivating her.

There was a noise behind me. A young, strong-looking raven had flapped down and was pecking at the carcass of one of the scavengers. I watched it, then gathered some of the meat in case the bird should decide we were a source of food. If that was the case, I could train it to follow me; the creature would be a distraction from Zila in any case.

The raven did follow me, turning lonely circles over my head. Every twenty steps or so I put down a little bit of food and it seemed to get the picture.

"Will you stop putting down food for that thing!" Zila eventually burst out. "It's driving me insane."

I ignored her. She watched me do it for a while longer, then said,

"Are you going to name it?"

Apparently her temper was quite like a flash of lightning, and was not lasting. I realised if you did not respond to the initial irritating things she spoke out of spite or some other petty emotion, then her mind turned to exploring the subject and coming up with new ideas. She would say something very off-putting, then try and find something else to forward the conversation; she was not a lost case.

"No," I said, "I will not name him."

"Him?"

"Or her. Part of the reason is that I don't know if it's a him or a her."

"Pray not to judge, and give it a name that could fit a boy or a girl," said Zila, smiling.

I supposed she was right.

"What about a combination of our names," said Zila, "Odla, or Zidile."

I rolled my eyes and smiled slightly.

"Those," I said, "sound like the names of ancient Horadrim. I am a plain person with a plain background. I shall just call it Raven. Then, if I lose it, it won't be so - "

I stopped talking and tried to keep a step ahead of her.

"You keep talking about losing people and things," Zila was surprisingly quick in her step, "these things are going to happen no matter what you do. In my mind, you can only do so much for other people. You have to do what's best for yourself in the end."

"In my mind," I said, "one's self only matters so much. Especially when more than one other life is at stake. Or especially when someone else's life means infinitely more to you than your own."

She shook her head, but didn't talk back. I was surprised she had drawn me out in conversation into such a delicate and emotionally charged subject. I hadn't foreseen anything but petty arguments with her. We were so different.

"You're talking like a hero," said Zila, fluttering about her clothes, which were not entirely practical, "and everyone knows there aren't any real people who truly think like that. Only in stories."

"Anyone with any maturity does think like that," I said, "anyone with any morality in them at all, that is. I'm surprised you aren't after the gold or the jewellery, or the treasure, on any of these tasks we're being set. That would seem more like you."

"I said I didn't need any gold," she said, "that doesn't mean we won't find any rare jewellery or treasure. I told my father if I found any rare artifacts I would bring them home."

I stared at her. I felt like telling her to go home; she was not equipped for this, she was not in the right state of mind, and she did not even sometimes act as though she was matured. But I was not someone who was used to telling others what to do except to save their lives. Zila could do what she wanted.

"I do advise," I said, "to strip off that outer layer of colourful clothing you're wearing. It doesn't serve any purpose. Just wear your armour as is."

"No," she said, "if I did that, I'd look like a commoner."

I said nothing else. I wasn't going to badger her; besides, we had entered the graveyard. There was a waypoint, but for some reason instinct told me to fetch the crown first, then let Haedrig know about his apprentice. I had changed my mind. Zila hovered at my side, a little behind me, watching to see what I would do. I realised that she was taking her cues from me. She had, at first, decided she would lead. Now, after that fight, I realised she was shaken and, though not ready to turn back out of fear, wanted to know what I would do first. I had not been the one to lose my nerve and almost break out of my senses when faced with a challenge.

I looked around, then climbed to the top of the sculpture in the middle of the graveyard. I had to admit. I was stymied. I hadn't listened properly to what Haedrig had told me about where to go. No, he had said "buried with my grandfather" but I, stupidly, had not thought to ask any further questions. I had just set off on the mission. I could just go back through the waypoint and ask, however.

"Hello?" said Zila, staring up at me, "Come down, what are you looking for?"

I slid back down to a gravestone, and leapt down from there.

"Look at these three open tombs," I said, pointing around, "how do we know where the crown is buried?"

"That's easy," said Zila, "don't you know? Look for the strongest bluish light. That is a signal that magic or something enchanted is nearby. Haven't you ever been to school?"

"No," I said, "I never went to school."

Zila sighed passionately and wandered about, staring into the entrance of the three tombs, then blushed and hesitated, realising that the three tombs were giving off approximately the same amount of light. After a minute of my trusting to her judgement, she pointed determinedly at the furtherest one away.

"That one," she said.

"Fine," I said, "you had better be right. Who knows how long and maze-like these catacombs are, and who knows where we might encounter our deaths."

"That is ridiculous," she smirked, "we're not going to die." She walked over and lifted her skirts to walk down into the tomb. She seemed to have regained her confidence. I followed her.

Inside shone the bluish light from the tunnel; it was rather beautiful and hypnotic. The tomb itself, however, was crumbling. We encountered tiny imp-like creatures that ran at us in a crazy defenceless way, easy to pick off with bow or in Zila's case, her bolts of purple energy. We found ourselves once wandering in a circle, but sitting down, managed to overcome the problem by drawing a rough map on a spare piece of parchment Zila had for writing down new spells. There we found a door I remembered, that she had overlooked, that we hadn't gone through.

Finally we found a door with a strongly glowing blue light. She looked at me, I looked at her, and, not ready to encourage or congratulate each other, we walked through the doorway and stumbled down the unseen stair on the other side. We would later remember that as a time when we could have done more for each other. I remember this as the first time I missed my raven. He had not flown in beside me.

We approached another door – this one sealed. I ran my hands over it in dismay, since light shone through the cracks around the door – the strongest blue light we had seen.

"I'm sure this is where we should go," said Zila, the outline of her strong nose against the light making me realise that usually there was some sort of enchantment over her appearance to make her look prettier than she really was. I frowned and then shook my head, not willing to bring it up. It did not matter. Looking at her real face, I did not see any real difference in attractiveness, but I supposed she had done away with the features she disliked. In my opinion, they simply gave her face character. Magic, I supposed, was shining through her magic, and disabling her spell.

Then a knocking, a pounding, came from the other side of the wall. The door heaved. Zila and I both ran back in preparation for an attack; the door crumbled and a hideous two-faced hulking monster burst through, screaming. Zila ran. I ran, too, dropping my slowing caltrops down on the floor, knowing it would already be slow judging from its big fat feet. It lumbered forward and tripped over my first caltrop. There was no way for it to avoid the other caltrops, since the passageway was narrow, so as fearsome as it was, it could only step forward extremely slowly, trapped every step and having to pull itself free.

This gave us a huge advantage. I threw knife after knife, then a spray of knives, then finally I aimed over and over for its head with my hand crossbow. Zila was readying a spell. She stood still, then suddenly fluttering balls of purple energy fell into the air and shot toward the monster; it was struck by all of them, then groaned and collapsed into pieces. The pieces still glowed with purple energy.

"That was easy," said Zila.

"I'm not so sure. Perhaps this monster is only meant to slow us down to give another demon inside here, more time," I said, working this out in my own head. "Let's move quickly."

Zila and I hurried into the main chamber, excited and heated. All we saw before us was a battered old crown lying sitting on an ancient cushion, glowing with blue energy.

"Perfect. Let's get out of here," I said, and just as Zila lurched forward with a warning, telling me to stop, my hand was upon the crown, and out of it flew an enourmous frightened-looking but threatening-seeming spectre.

"No!" it loudly said, "I will not allow you to bring that monster Leoric back to this world!"

I fired a bolt at it. The bolt stabbed through the ghost, seeming to do little damage, and I felt my knives would be equally useless. I had no arcana at my command. At the moment I realised this, the ghost lurched forward and sucked at the air. Life flew out of me as though he had snatched a hole in my guts and I was bleeding.

It attempted to then do the same to Zila, but Zila was ready; she turned her body into a blinding prism, which I, even bewildered, realised was a defensive spell. The ghost attacked her in vain. She then shot the ghost with ball after ball of strong arcane energy. The ghost attacked her body, finally, as the spell defending her wore off. She shot a ray of ice at the ghost, which froze it in the air, then finally hurled one more ball of energy at it. The ghost shattered into pieces.

Zila fell to her knees. I was ready, running to her with a healing potion, which I pressed to her lips. She eventually got up, rather frightened but alert. I envied her battle-skills which could serve her against any foe; her attacks were so varied. I had only physical skills at my command.

However, she had not my speed, agility, or confidence. She must have summoned up all her courage and care to combat this ghost. In fact, -

"Didn't you hear me telling you to stop?" she was on me in a second. "I told you to stop! I knew that would happen! I was reading the runes over the top of the cushion that told me a guardian haunted this relic! Why don't you listen?"

She stormed over to the wall and leaned against it dramatically, breathing hard. My mouth was set in a hard line. She had me. She had been in the right, but I had thought her useless in almost every situation and hadn't been watching to see my comrade's face and manner change when she had something important on her mind.

"I apologise," I said.

"Forget about it," she said, surprisingly not stopping to berate me more, and walked over to the runes that she had been apparently studying before I had taken the crown. "Guardian – wait, let's see. Let me write down this spell. This is an interesting spell recorded here. Look! If we ever need to go back to town, we need only concentrate on the town center and recite these words."

"Waypoints aside, that is very useful," I admitted, still apologetic, "thank you for helping me. I would never have made it this far without you. You are a valued companion." I felt a new emotional attachment to her. She was not lazy or self-serving. She had paid attention and saved our lives. I realised how much I valued her. Whether or not I disliked her – I owed her a debt of honour.

"Shut up," she snapped, still writing. "Here, I'll copy it down for you – I think you can memorise a few words?"

"I think I can," I said, still shaken. I no longer felt completely in control. The ghost's attack had almost brought me to the ground. Memories of my sister flew through my mind. My health felt inadequate to walking, listening or thinking.

Zila stared at me, then offered me the rest of the health potion. I took it automatically, thinking I must have a visible wound. But the wound was not visible. The ghost had attacked my mind, and I realised I hadn't recovered as quickly as Zila had from something that had attacked my mental faculties. She must have had extraordinary steadiness of the brain, despite her external panic attacks and loss of control. Perhaps I had more inner unhappiness to attack. I didn't know.

The next thing I felt was Zila lowering me to the ground and setting the paper with the incantation before me.

"Memorise it."

My eyes fluttered blankly over the paper.

However, it gave me something to focus on, and soon I was on my feet and ashamed of my weakness. I realised that I deeply hated and feared ghosts. They were the undead embodiment of people whose lives had not been saved. Who had died in pain and fear. Died with their lives unlived. The very people I had always wanted to save. I never wanted to see another one.

I would not discuss this with Zila. I felt like mentioning something to her – but everything sounded like an excuse for my failure to find some way to help her with the ghost.

"Are you finished? Please tell me you are," said she impatiently, "I really can't wait any longer in this dirty old place."

"I think I remember it," I said, folding the paper and storing it neatly.

We both, after a look to the other, started to recite the incantation. Two portals appeared.

"I see," I said, "only one of us has to create a portal."

Zila concentrated and one portal closed.

We stepped into the other, together.


	6. Chapter 6

Zila and I stumbled out into New Tristram together, my arm wrapped around her forearm. She shook me listlessly free. My eyes blinking, I looked at the night sky to steady myself and saw my raven silhouetted against the moon, for a moment, then disappearing into the dark. I smiled.

Zila dropped my arm. We weren't looking at each other very much just now, because we were embarrassed. I don't think either of us had expected to connect in the way we had. Zila was untouched by mental trouble. She strode into the town. Curious people accosted us, and someone pressed a warming drink into my hand and threw a blanket around my shoulders. Zila watched until I stopped trembling and then smiled at me. I thanked the people that had come to my aid and distractedly fed my raven, once it flew down and perched on my shoulder.

"Odile," Haedrig was coming toward me through the throng. "How'dye do," he said half-heartedly to Zila. "You found the crown," he said, taking it from me. "Truth be told, I didn't think ye'd make it out alive. Ah! It needs a bit of work. Excuse me." He had not let me speak up once; all of it was said with a kind of cool enthusiasm, and then he had retreated with the crown. I numbly walked toward him, not disposed to talk.

Zila's arms were folded.

"Blacksmith," she acknowledged him coldly.

His eyes flickered up from his work as he hammered the crown and a cold look passed between them. I barely saw. I was thinking of my sister. The ghost had drowned me in memories.

"Here, Odile," said Haedrig, giving me the crown. "You deserve it, lass. And this is the most excited I've been about something since my wife – well, ye know the tale. Truth be told, I'd like something more than making spades to occupy my time. Let me work for you."

"I'll take that offer," came the slurred words from my cold lips. I shook his hand.

Zila was standing, looking around, clearly impatient. I went to her and reached for her hand; to my surprise, she put an arm around me and pressed me to her. I went stiff, but accepted the gesture.

"Well," said Zila to Haedrig, "you'd best put those arms to use, mightn't you. So do work – for _us. _Odile and I fight together, or not at all." There was something calculating in her eyes, and I realised she didn't think much of her chances alone.

"Not at all," I said sceptically, "I would fight alone if you didn't feel inclined to travel with me."

"Good for you," said Zila with flippant ease. "As it happens, we appear to work well enough together."

"For now," I concluded, my eyes narrowing. I don't know why I was still pushing at her; we had just completed an important task as a team. I still wasn't comfortable. I was more comfortable speaking a few words to my raven, and I had barely befriended it. Animals are not complex. Their needs are simple, and they are as independent as a thought. I liked them very much.

"Goodness," said Zila, "hum – you really need to lighten up; we're winning – halfway to our goal. And you look like you just rose from the grave." She had high spirits and seemed happier than I had ever seen her.

"Did you see my grandfather?" said Haedrig with a thin smile.

"What?" I said angrily, "you knew he was guarding that crown and you neglected to say? Do you understand what I mean when I say that your negligence could easily cost someone their life?"

"I hear ye, I hear ye," said Haedrig, his brow lowering, flapping a hand, "don't be so over-dramatic, girl. I knew the instant I saw you that you'd never die – and wasn't I right. At least, if you did, I'd never forget you. I'm sorry. I neglected to warn ye, and I'm sorry – after Mira died, I simply forgot to say." He did not often say so many words, and seemed embarrassed.

I put the hard-earned crown into my backpack and dropped my cloak over it. Zila had gone over to one of the locked boxes by the Slaughtered Calf, apparently to see about some business of her own. I wandered over, and as she unlocked her stash I bargained to buy one of the lock-boxes for myself, and put some of my spare gold into the box. Gold was heavy to carry, and I was suddenly richer than I had ever been in my life. I glanced into Zila's box, unable to overcome my curiosity. I had known she was rich, but I breathed in hard. It was full of clothing, laid in with jewels, and there were valuable tomes inside also.

"You are rich," I said firmly.

"I am," she said, "my stash is open to you, my friend. Do you need anything? Gold? An enchanted jewel? Nothing but my books are off-limits to you. Speak quickly. I am rarely this generous. Neither is anyone from Caldeum," she said, as if to embarrassedly disclaim that she was unique in her hoarding of valuable items.

"I need nothing," I said, drowning my mouth with the remainder of the drink a kind old woman had given to me. It was something between tea and coffee, and very warming. I handed one more scrap of dried meat to my raven, and it flew away into the night. I suddenly realised the feelings it would inspire in me if I was to leave forever.

"Can I do anything for ye," Haedrig said, after looking at me, to Zila. Apparently the fact she was a friend of mine had affected him.

"No," said Zila, "I have everything I need and more. Besides, what Blacksmith can create anything a mage needs?"

"Sorry I asked," muttered Haedrig, and turned back to the spade he was making, banging the hammer so hard in his annoyance that the spade was bent and ruined.

I had cooled my head. I went straight to Deckard Cain, and handed the crown to him to look at. The old man studied it for several moments, deftly turning it with his fingers.

"This is it," I said simply, "how might I find the Skeleton King?"

"In the cathedral. Once there, place the crown atop his head and destroy him." Deckard Cain coughed, then nodded hard. A light rain had begun to fall.

"Uncle," said Leah, "I've never heard you be so direct in your life. No story?"

"No story," Deckard Cain said, "this has been long in coming."

"That's a nice bird," Leah said, touching my hand and motioning upward, "yours?"

"Yes," I said, "I – I'm going to buy a drink. Would you and your uncle care to join me?"

They did. Soon, Zila, Deckard Cain, and I were sitting in the Slaughtered Calf, and Leah kindly let us sit down and went to get glasses of wine for everybody. Ale is something most people could afford, but wine was for people with gold. I thoroughly enjoyed my drink. As I talked to Leah, I realised what a kind and genuine heart she had. She was not my friend – not yet – we had been through nothing together – but I truly liked her, and I don't know why – but she seemed to like me. I was suddenly realising that everybody did. I hadn't expected it, nor even cared if I was liked. But Haedrig clearly thought the world of me. Zila was a firm friend, despite our differences. Deckard Cain twinkled at me, but then again, he twinkled and sparkled in the eye for everyone. He had eyes like rough-cut gems.

I learned a lot that night. Leah was a more enjoyable speaker than her uncle when she spoke about lore and history, but Deckard Cain was thorough. Zila listened and wrote down what he said in a book of parchment, clearly hanging on to his every word. I yawned slightly when he told me for the third time about the Skeleton King's madness.

"Why are you yawning?" Zila said sharply, her quill scratching hard on the parchment. Her eyes flashed at me. Her wine stood untasted.

"I'm bored," I said simply. Leah snorted with good humour and winked at me. She was not exactly a tomboy – too delicate – but hardy with it. She was full of contradiction, the one thing at the center of her contradictions her good heart and a beautiful face.

"Are you serious?" said Zila, angry, but I was used to her anger now: it was always momentary. "This is a Horadrim – the last Horadrim, if I'm not mistaken. I want every word he can say on anything."

"I never saw it like that," said Leah, "he's just Uncle: that's all." She said it very fondly, and drew Deckard Cain's blanket, spread around his shoulders, higher around his neck.

"He certainly looks very old," I said slowly, respectfully, "Sir, are you well? Your health?" I raised a glass to him. I had had a grandfather, who certainly hadn't reached Deckard Cain's age.

"I am well, thank you," he interrupted his long words to say.

"You're coughing," I said, with a hint of concern.

"I am not going to die, that I know of," he said, and smiled.

"You don't smoke a pipe?" I asked.

"No."

We all toasted his health this time, and the night drew on. Zila and I discussed strategies to take on the Skeleton King, Leah occasionally adding a tip that intelligently added up both our qualities and suggested how we could combine our skills. Deckard Cain helped with knowledge of magic and reanimation.

Deckard Cain fondly recounted his days raising Leah – how it would have been difficult for her, adventuring throughout her young life.

I finally heard the sad tale of how King Leoric had become the Skeleton King – resisting Diablo's attempts to control his mind until finally snapping when Albrecht, his son, was kidnapped. He also mentioned how he was finally defeated by Aidan, his other son.

"'Aidan came to me last night,'" I said to Leah, "that's what your mother Adria's journal said. 'I consoled him as best I could.' Consoled him – is it possible that you may have been concieved by them?"

"Akarat! Can this be true?" Deckard Cain's eyebrows raised very high.

Leah was silent, biting her lip. When I brought the subject up again to her she made a gentle gesture for me to stop talking. No more was said on the subject.

"Uncle is convinced the forces of hell are amassing to invade our world. We've gone from place to place trying to find evidence of this armageddon," said Leah.

I shivered and brooded for a moment on that. My raven was hopping across the floor, keen on food. I waved him away and he flew out the window, rejected. Then my heart dropped. What if my raven did not come back? His food stores done?

"How did your mother die?" I asked Leah.

"She was always a bit unstable – like Uncle, obsessed with the war between demons and angels." 

"I'm sorry," I was distracted. "Excuse me." I had to find my raven.

I rushed out into the night and whistled and whistled. Finally, he appeared, flapping in slow circles around me, above me. He seemed not to want to come near. Finally, finally, he came down, landed on my shoulder and fluffed his feathers. I was angry, and I suppose he was too.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him, "I'll never push you away. Never again." I was different to animals than I was with people.

He flew away dispite that, obviously to brood. I smiled. I knew a lot about brooding.

The lady who had helped me when I had come out of the portal was a way away from me, smiling directly at me. She was elderly. I approached her.

"Thank you for your help before," I said very quietly, just above a whisper.

"My pleasure."

"Your name?"

"Chrysanthia. You are such a hero," she said, "I'll be cheering you on from New Tristram. I'm your biggest fan, you know." She was, now that I looked, not elderly – perhaps only ten years older than my mother had been. She was simply deeply lined and had hair like pale straw.

"Thank you," I said simply, "I won't let anything happen to you." _Don't make that promise. _But I made that promise. I even gave her a little cuddle. She was old and needed company – she obviously had a lot of time to think about me, because she didn't seem to have friends or family about.

"Odile," said Zila, clapping me over to the table, "don't go around hugging these ugly old peasants. You're an important person in the town now. Please! You're their saviour! And so am I." She added with a self-satisfied smile.

Leah's face was one of consternation upon hearing this.

"Be quiet. You irritate me," I said to Zila.

She rolled her eyes, sighed, and threw up her hands, as though she was sick of me, but she was smiling.

"Peasants love peasants."

"They do," I said, "with good reason. They live together and work together every day."

"I don't have to see people I don't like in Caldeum. I just avoid them."

"I understand wanting to avoid someone," I shot back, "I'm looking at someone I want to avoid." Another argument.

"Please," Leah said, her eyes skipping between us, "let's keep the peace, Odile, Zila."

Deckard Cain coughed again.

We returned to our wine, rather more silent than we had been. Besides, Zila's book was full.


End file.
